


The Communicator

by Communicator



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Communicator/pseuds/Communicator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas stumbles across a new 'Glader' near the Box who won't let Thomas deny his feelings regarding The Maze or Newt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Communicator

The Communicator

A small boy stood by The Box, enshrouded in the shadows of the night and Thomas trembled at the sight of him. Dark skin like Alby’s and hair whiter than Thomas’ flesh. No, not white, but silver. His silver hair was as bright as a glistening star. Thomas’ knees clacked together clumsily. Clearly his legs wanted to sprint off for his spot in the Deadheads or the Homestead, but he couldn’t stop staring at this silver-haired boy. Something had pinned Thomas there. A feeling. Not his fear, but a Wind. A Warm Wind hung around the place and held Thomas there like a pair of hands pressing down on his shoulders. The breeze blew from where the silver-haired boy stood. He was the center of this vortex, the master of it.

Thomas clutched his knife so hard his knuckles looked bleached. And what for? There was only a kid out there. A rather odd looking one, one that looked like a grounded star or something. Plus the Warm Wind swirling around Thomas kind of calmed him down, soothed his troubled mind and heart. So many things troubled Thomas right now, after all and this Warm Wind made his pain, the fear eating him up slowly like a disease, less severe. Almost bearable.

The silver-haired stranger ignored the spying Glader though. He glared at the night sky through a tiny telescope then shook his head. Thomas had never seen this kid before and he was pretty sure he would’ve noticed his sparkling hair amongst the other Gladers. And so he wondered who, or more precisely what he was.

‘ _Communicator. The one who understands._ ’

Thomas’ heart jumped up his throat as if it was trying to escape when he heard the voice. The answer didn’t come from the silver-haired boy though. It came from inside Thomas. His own mind was talking to him. Again.

“What’re you bloody doin’ out here, Tommy?”

Again Thomas’ heart hopped up his throat, choking him. He swung his head to the new voice. This one came from outside his head. From the Homestead.

“Newt?” Thomas said, his face hot. His cheeks blossomed pink and he hoped Newt wouldn’t notice or at least that he wouldn’t say anything about it.

Newt jogged over to Thomas, smiling his cheery smile. Even his steps were happy leaps like a rabbit’s. He glanced at The Box upon his arrival.

“What’re you bloody staring at over here, Tommy?” he asked.

“That kid, right over there.” Thomas switched his attention from Newt to The Box, pointing to his old cage. Nobody was there, of course. “I—I could have sworn there was a—somebody was standing there. I know it!”

Newt laughed and slapped Thomas’s back, playfully. His jolly roar melted some of Thomas’ worries. Gave him some relief, but it wasn’t enough to make him forget what he’d seen or felt.

“Right-right,” said Newt, in between chuckles. “Think you need to get some more sleep and not in yer little, special forest spot either.”

Newt pressed his palm against Thomas’ back, gently pushing the troubled Glader toward the Homestead. To his new family. And Thomas was okay with that at first. Even a little excited to be heading in with Newt. A goofy smile crept onto his face and he couldn’t explain why. But it didn’t matter because none of it lasted very long. Another feeling invaded his body. A cold touch. This frigid feeling stung his heart worse than a Griever. He slapped Newt’s hand away.

“I’m—I’m fine,” he said, folding his arms and pouting at the forest.

Newt’s smile sunk into an almost-frown. He couldn’t completely shake off a whole grin even when dealing with a moody Thomas. “Look Tommy, I know it’s been bloody rough lately, but you don’t need to shut yourself off from everybody. It’s times like these when we shanks need to stick together. Good that?”

Newt sat his hand on Thomas’ shoulder, but the sulking Glader shrugged, shaking off both Newt’s gentle gesture and offer.

“I said I’m fine,” Thomas snapped. He peeked at Newt, partly out of guilt. He was being a total jerk after all. And as expected Newt had completely lost his glowing smile. So Thomas expected him to shout or call him a shucky shank or a pile of klunk. He deserved that much at least, but no—Newt just stared at Thomas, frowning a pitiful frown at the grouchy Glader and that was far worse than any insult or name he could’ve called ‘Tommy.’ Thomas’ eyes burned from the sight of Newt sulking at him. He had to turn away again before his burning eyes gave up a stupid shameful tear.

“Don’t—don’t look at me like that,” Thomas muttered. He stormed off to the Deadheads, to his special sleeping spot. And Newt didn’t follow him either. The blond-haired Glader stood there, quiet and watching Thomas sprint off. And Thomas didn’t look back even though he wanted too. He really wanted to. He stopped running once he was surrounded by forest and darkness and silence. When he knew he was alone again. His eyes still burned and that cold touch from before had spread across his chest, suffocating him. Breathless and aching, he found his sleeping spot and slid against a tree onto the ground. His eyelids shut and his mind quieted. His exhaustion from his run finally took hold of him and dragged him into a much-needed slumber.

And then he had that dream again.

The one where red waters surrounded him and bodies too. Piles upon piles of bodies dotted the landscape of his dreaming mind. All of their faces familiar. Alby, Gally, Ben, Newt, and Chuck…All the Gladers’ corpses haunted his head.

“Don’t surrender to fear or you’ll never escape,” someone said. The voice flew into Thomas’ dreaming noggin. It brought a Warm Wind with it too. This Wind blew away the nightmare and a silver light pierced the darkness of Thomas’ skull, forcing his mind back to conscious, back to reality. Thomas opened his eyes and the morning light greeted him. So did a fuzzy silver-head resting on his side.

“What the—.” Thomas gasped and shot upright onto his feet.

“Owe,” said the silver-haired boy. His head hit the ground. “What’d you do that for? I was sleeping.”

“What? Why were you sleeping on me?” Thomas shouted so loud the whole Glade must’ve heard him.

“Because you’re warm, duh,” replied the silver-haired boy as if the answer should have been obvious. A mild hotness scorched Thomas’ face and he was pretty sure his cheeks were pink again. “Plus you seemed sad and lonely,” the silver-haired boy continued. “Why are you out here, anyways? Alone. You have some many friends. You have a family.”

Thomas didn’t answer. He flared his blushing nostrils and frowned at the ground. Sure, he had the Gladers by his side during the most bizarre moment of his life, trapped in a Maze in the middle who-knows-where. But that didn’t mean anything—wouldn’t mean anything if they all ended up dead.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled, keeping his head low like a wilted flower.

“Yea, right, whatever,” said the silver-haired boy as he plucked leaves and dirt and twigs from his mossy hair. “I do know one thing though. This place is dark and lonely. You shouldn’t stay out here, alone. Tom.”

“Wha—what did you call me?” Thomas yelled. _Tom_ , that girl had called him that as well, (while she was still unconscious though). And the nickname was familiar, intimate—too intimate for this kid to be using it as though they were best friends. “Hey I’m talking to you,” Thomas yelled again.

But the silver-haired boy simply stood and stretched. Then he marched out of the forest without answering.

“Wait, where are you going?” Thomas asked, as he chased the stranger and caught him by his shoulder. The silver-haired boy paused after a heavy sigh and glanced over at the Glader. “I’m going back to the Homestead, duh,” he replied, grabbing Thomas’ hand and pulling him through the Deadheads along with him. Thomas didn’t resist either, oddly enough. He was too busy listening to a pounding from the stranger’s hand on his own. Thomas felt it too, like he was holding a tiny fluttering heart. The pair ploughed through the forest and when they emerged from the Deadheads, the Gladers were already at work. Some of them froze in place to stare at Thomas and his new little friend.

“Who’s the silver-haired shank?” asked Minho, standing with Newt at entrance of the Homestead. “You’re new little boyfriend or something.” He chuckled at his own joke and so did the silver-haired boy.

“I don’t think I deserve that title,” said the silver-haired boy in between giggles. He glanced at Newt and gave the blond-haired Glader a wide grin, teeth showing and everything. “So you must be him. You have to be.”

Newt cocked a curious eyebrow at the kid. The silver-haired stranger approached him, still grinning widely at the blond-haired Glader. “You’re Newt, the one Thomas loves, right?”

Thomas died. Or he wished he had. His kidneys and stomach and heart, all of them felt as if they were drowning in acid. And having an audience didn’t help either. Everyone glared, gasped, and giggled a little at the silver-haired ‘greenie’s’ announcement. Thomas’ cheeks—no his whole head was bursting red. Newt’s was too. And neither one of them could look at each other or anyone else for that matter. Both boys kept their heads lowered, staring at the ground because what else could they look at without being so obvious about their embarrassment.

“Wha—what did you just say?” Thomas gasped. He was practically breathless. The silver-haired boy turned to him, holding onto his wide smile.

“Just telling the truth,” the silver-haired boy replied. Now Thomas’ head was on the verge of exploding. His heart pounded so hard against his chest that he worried it might jump out of his body at any moment. And he sort of wished it would so he could stop feeling anything at this point. Newt had to be suffering the same sort of torture.

“Who—who the bloody hell are you anyways?” Newt managed to cough out, keeping his eyes aimed at the grass of course.

“Oh right, I haven’t exactly introduced myself yet,” said the silver-haired boy as he gave the Gladers a full bow. “I’m the Communicator. Pleased to meet you, Gladers.”

The Gladers rolled their eyes and muttered, “Communicator?” And the silver-haired boy didn’t bother offering any explanation to his brief introduction. He allowed the muttering chaos to continue and was grinning the whole time while the Gladers argued about who he really was and what he wanted. The theories raged between the Gladers, ranging from the boy being a Creator to him being some sort of spy. Either way, none of the theories were in his favor, but the silver-haired boy didn’t seem to care. All the excitement was getting to him, making him excited and bouncy.

“Communicator?” Thomas remembered the voice inside his head and what it had told him. “The one who understands.”

‘ _That’s right Thomas_ ,’ said the silver-haired boy and Thomas choked at the sound of the boy’s voice inside his head again. _‘I’m glad my message managed to reach you.’_

Newt was watching Thomas (whose mouth hung wide open) and the silver-haired boy and even though he didn’t know what was going on between them, he wasn’t about to remove his careful gaze off the strange, new Greenie. Thomas wished he could tell someone what was going on, but he wasn’t sure either.

“Communicator? And what the shuck does that even mean?” Minho added, arms folded and pouting. “Don’t you have a name or something less weird?”

The silver-haired boy shook his head, frowning. Really frowning for the first time since Thomas laid eyes on him. “I—I don’t remember ever having one. I don’t really remember much at all, actually. Only small details about this place. Like your names and small stuff like that.”

The Gladers passed glances between each other and nodded. And everyone was pretty sure that everyone was thinking the same thing. Stolen memories, it didn’t take a genius to know that this kid had to have been sent through the Box by the Creators just like the rest of them. But why did he know who they were?

“But this doesn’t make any sense,” said Minho. “That girl’s message said she was gonna be the last one. Ever.”

The other Gladers nodded and grumbled in agreement. The silver-haired boy simply raised a curious eyebrow at everyone, completely clueless about everything.

“Whatever, but what the bloody shuck should we do with this kid,” said Newt, now having fully recovered from his previous embarrassment. He was glaring at the silver-haired stranger like he was an invader. A major threat.

“We should at least give him a name or something.” This time it was Chuck speaking as he left the Homestead. The pudgy Glader happily hopped over to the new Greenie and held out his hand. “Hey there, I’m Chuck. You must be the newest greenie. Makes sense that you’re with this old Greenie here.”

Thomas nudged Chuck and Chuck nudged him back, making Thomas chuckle at little, for the first time since the silver-haired stranger appeared.

“So what should we call you?” Chuck asked the ‘newest greenie.’ “You said something about him being a Communicator, whatever that is, but sounds a little long for a name.”

“How about, silver-shank,” said Minho, slapping the newbie on his back and roaring laughter at his own cleverness. “Get it? Cuz of his silver hair.”

“No bloody way, Minho,” said Newt. “That sounds bloody awful.” Thomas nodded in agreement. “How about Conor? Short for Communicator, right? Tommy, what do ya think?”

Thomas nodded without a word, without even looking at Newt. He couldn’t do it. Even though Newt wasn’t rosy cheeked from what ‘the Communicator’ had said, he still was. Even his heartbeat hadn’t returned to normal. Thomas kept playing the silver-haired shank’s words over and over again, about him loving Newt. That’s ridiculous. Newt was a guy, and besides Thomas just met him and besides that Thomas was still freaking out about this whole scenario, trapped in a Maze, the Grievers, and the ‘new girl,’ who was supposed to be the ‘last’ Glader. Now they had this weird little kid to deal with. There wasn’t any time for things like ‘love’ or whatever. Not when your life was on the line, right? Right?

A Warm Wind blew and a voice rode the breeze.

‘ _Don’t let your fear consume you_ ,’ the voice spoke from the wind.

Thomas held his heart. When he heard the voice, his pulse raged so loudly it blocked out every other sound except that voice. A strong heat flowed throughout his whole body, and it only got worse when Thomas accidentally glanced at Newt, who glanced back at him, his lips parted like he wanted to say something to ‘Tommy.’

Thomas felt a tug at his waist. He looked below and saw the silver-haired boy staring at him, frowning at him.

“What? Why are you staring at me?” Thomas snapped.

“My name,” said the silver-haired boy. “Do you think Conor is good?”

Thomas jerked his wrist away and scrunched up his nose and eyebrows as if he was ready to vomit. “Whatever, I don’t care,” he said, storming off again, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Where are you bloody going now, Tommy?” Newt shouted, partially out of anger and partially out of worry. “We need to talk about this new bloody development!”

“You guys figure it out,” Thomas said, without turning to Newt. Seriously, if he even stole a mere glance of the blond-haired Glader again his heart would definitely spring out of his chest. Or self-destruct, and he couldn’t understand why. None of his feelings were making any sense to him at all these days. Thomas pushed past the Gladers and his light jog broke out into a full run, a sprint. He headed for The Box and found himself a spot against a tree. He didn’t take a full breath until he sat down, hunched over with his head resting against his lap.

“Hey!” someone said and Thomas looked up from his lap to see who it was.

“You again?” Thomas snapped, seeing the silver-haired boy and rolling his eyes at the kid.

“Conor,” said the silver-haired boy and Thomas glared at him in silence. “That’s my name from now on. Okay, Tom?”

“Don’t call me that,” Thomas said with such a fire in his voice he surprised himself. Conor wasn’t fazed by the grouchy Glader’s words though. He popped a squat next to him and stared at the sky. Thomas didn’t say anything. He sulked into his lap.

“So tell me, why are you so scared?” Conor asked with a smile glued to his face.

“What do you mean why am I so scared?” Thomas shouted, everything he said seemed to come out as a yell. “Have you taken a look at your new home? Your new prison?”

Conor glanced at Thomas then took a long gaze of the false sunny sky hanging over him again. “Yes, I have and it’s quite nice,” he said without dropping his smile. Thomas practically lost it though. His eyes were so wide and big as he stared at the silver-haired boy that they were about to fall out of his noggin.

“Whatever.” Thomas looked away and as he did, he felt another heartbeat sitting on his hand. He glanced over and saw Conor resting his palm on the backside of his hand. His eyes were shut tight like he was focusing on something. Thomas ripped his hand away and bolted upright, standing over the ‘newest greenie’ with his eyes on the verge of falling out his head for real this time. “What are you doing now?”

Conor opened his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh, shaking his head and mumbling, “I don’t understand.”

“What? Don’t understand what?” Thomas asked, panic making his voice a bit shaky.

“Why are you in so much pain right now?” Conor wasn’t smiling or frowning at Thomas at this point. His silver eyebrows were raised as he pondered to himself.

“What do you mean by that?” Thomas asked without shouting now, but Conor kept shaking his head, not wanting to answer. So Thomas asked him another question. “So—um why did you say that stuff before?”

“What stuff?” Conor asked, cocking a single eyebrow at the Glader.

Thomas was fidgeting nervously, appearing as if he needed to pee badly. He sulked at The Box because he couldn’t stand looking at this new know-it-all-greenie. “You know what I’m talking about,” he said softly, fearing someone else might be listening in. “You know, about Newt and me loving him. That stuff.”

“Because it’s true!” Conor shouted, even standing up and glaring at Thomas. “And you should have told him by now. About how you feel about everything.”

Thomas backed off a bit despite this boy being shorter than him. Definitely younger than him too. Maybe twelve or something like Chuck.

“Shuck it,” Thomas said. Not so much to Conor, but to himself. “I don’t—I can’t think about this right now. I can’t.” Thomas was pulling at his hair and tears were stinging his eyes and all his organs felt as if they were drowning in acid again. Burning from the inside out.

“Because you’re scared?” Conor added and Thomas clamped his mouth shut so tight he could have bitten off his tongue. The grouchy Glader nodded. Conor approached Thomas then tossed his arms around him. Thomas didn’t know what to do now, about this kid who was a bit touchy-feely. Just a little too much.

‘ _Don’t let fear consume you_ ,’ Thomas heard the voice inside his head again. ‘ _Fear is a monstrous thing and can make you no different from the enemies you will face. Let yourself feel friendship. Love too_.’

Conor released Thomas. “Do you understand? Do you get it?” he asked the grouchy Glader using his own voice. Thomas nodded silently at the silver-haired greenie. Conor smiled and bowed to Thomas. “I saw your dream, Tom. You can’t let that stop you.”

And Thomas thought about the nightmare that had haunted him for some time now. The red waters and faces of the dead Gladers—his new family, haunted him.

“Who are you?” Thomas asked. “What are you? What do you want?”

Thomas was getting tense again. His body was twitchy. So Conor grinned. He waved his arms in the air, a sweeping motion, and the Warm Wind blew again. It swept away the last of Thomas’ worries. All of his tension—the fear and dread, all of it spilled out of Thomas and was carried away with this Wind.

“What—what is this?” Thomas gasped. “What did you do?”

Conor held his finger to his lips, a signal for silence. “I’m the Communicator,” he said. “Now, I’ll see you later Tom. Besides, I think someone else wants to speak with you anyways.”

Thomas looked behind Conor. Newt stood there, wearing a timid grin. The silver-haired boy passed the blond-haired Glader, giving him a full-blown, tooth-showing smile before he disappeared amongst the other Gladers. Thomas and Newt stood several feet apart, with Thomas stealing bashful glances of Newt and Newt staring at him, his timid grin gradually maturing into his cheery smile.

“So, you bloody alright over there, Tommy?” Newt asked, slowly inching his way over to Thomas as if he needed to be careful not to scare him off. “You’ve been acting a little—.”

“A lot like a shuck-faced shank,” Thomas finished and Newt’s smile was complete when he heard that. Both of them giggled.

“Sounds about right,” Newt said, now standing right before Thomas. The grouchy Glader fell to his rear again. Newt did the same.

“Weird kid, that Conor,” said Thomas.

“Meaning?” Newt asked.

Thomas fidgeted, doing his best not to bite his tongue. He kept thinking about how stupid this was. These feelings for Newt. And the nightmares didn’t make any of this better for him. But all his thoughts stopped when he felt a warmth on his palm.

“Tommy?” Newt whispered and Thomas gulped, holding back the urge to vomit. He didn’t look at Newt or his own hand now being gripped by the cheery Glader. “It’s okay, Tommy. It’s okay. I’m scared too.”

Thomas was shaking again. So Newt scooted over, slowly bridging the gap between them, hips touching. Shoulder nudging.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, turning to Newt and Newt turned to him at the same moment. Their lips so close they could suck the air out of each other. And then they moved so close to each other that there wasn’t any air between them at all.

Epilogue:

Memo: The Communicator’s Arrival –

 

The Communicator, or Conor, has successfully arrived at the Maze Trials and has made contact with Group A. He’s already generating interesting results that could prove useful in the future. Thomas especially seems to be responding well to ‘Conor.’ However, Conor’s true abilities have yet to be revealed. His ability to manipulate ‘The Emotional Variables’ or ‘Warm Wind’ seems stable. However, as The Communicator, he hasn’t been able to absorb and understand all of Group A’s dreams or memories. Time will tell how far along his abilities will mature.

 

Note: An interesting relationship development has occurred between Thomas and Newt due to interacting with the Communicator. Looking forward to future developments. These new ‘emotions’ could be the key to saving humanity, perhaps?

 

Ava Paige


End file.
